A final smile
Tumbled off, in the mile.
Do you believe in weather
Without the sun to smother?
There is rain to collect,
A scent to breathe
Upon the cracked doorstep.
Without the sun
You can hide with me,
Before you run,
Playing in the filth,
When the flowers wilt.
You were the value lost
From a heart with shattered veins.
You cried from the mountaintop,
Signalling ruin to stop –
With eyes set upon the cross.
When the sun fell upon its knees,
Crying in formless disbelief,
No counted rays, with the loss –
To what is buried, soon to rise
From puddles, as tears, with lies.
Modern Romanticism 